


Well it worked for Katsudon

by KayinTruth



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #reasonswhypornisnotsexed, Aftercare, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Felching, First Time, Humiliation kink, Intercrural Sex, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Multiple, Please See Notes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Unsafe Sex, Yuri Plistetsky has a potty mouth, angry sex because yuri is still an angry smol, bisexual yuri, bottom yuri, it's fine they have google, kind of, minor whorephobia, performed harrassment, top otabek, tsundere!yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 14:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayinTruth/pseuds/KayinTruth
Summary: Otabek Altin is, obviously, a disappointment in bed. A colossal disappointment, in fact. He’s not even a good kisser.He must be, because that’s the only reason Yuri will accept for why Otabek won’t sleep with him.





	Well it worked for Katsudon

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit guys this is filthiest thing I've ever written, much less posted, pls validate me
> 
>  
> 
> WRT the tags, there shouldn't be much that's triggering, but for a run down of why it's not SS&C, and why I'm tagging it with whorephobia, explanations down below

“Kiss me,” Yuri says. Otabek glances over, and then slowly turns his head to look at Yuri fully, face inscrutable.

“Why?” he asks, and takes another sip of champagne. This is not the most surprising thing Yuri’s ever said to him, the most surprising being the first time he’d tried, at Yuri’s birthday party a few weeks ago, when he’d told Otabek that blow jobs were a traditional Russian birthday present and tried to drag him into a closet. At this point, it’s not even a surprise.

But this is the first time he’s really pressed Otabek for anything around other people. It’s also, not coincidentally, the first year Yuri’s been allowed to drink at a banquet, that birthday being his 18th. Yuri’s on his fourth glass of champagne, and there’s a flush high in his cheeks. He’s drunk, Otabek knows. Yuri’s always drunk when he says things like this.

“Because I said so, moron,” Yuri says, the casual insult betraying his nervous mood.

“We’re in the middle of a crowd of people,” Otabek points out quietly.

“So let’s go back to my room,” Yuri says, getting up into Otabek’s space. Otabek, over his head, seeks out Yuri’s coaches. Yakov Feltsman’s berating Victor Nikiforov for this year’s Nikiforov-has-zero-chill-about-Katsuki scandal on ice that his former coach will probably have to field calls about for the next month; Lilia Baranovskaya is talking to a small circle of people who Otabek assumes are other ballet trainers. He recognizes the Japanese ballet teacher Yuri had bitched about coming in to train Katsuki for this year’s short program, who’d criticized Yuri’s form while she was at it (and worse, had been right).

A hard finger pokes his chest. “I said let’s go back to my room,” Yuri says again. “Stop ignoring me, asshole.”

Otabek takes Yuri’s finger gently. “I’m not ignoring you,” he says, tilting his head down to meet Yuri’s eyes. “I don’t think I could.” At Yuri’s suspicious look, he adds. “Trust me, Yuri, you’re very difficult not to pay attention to.”

Yuri flushes darker. “Good,” he says, and bites his bottom lip briefly. He downs the rest of his champagne in one go before Otabek can catch his hand, and says, “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Otabek’s eyebrows slant down. He knows that from… where does he know that from?

Regardless of where it’s from, Yuri is drunk. It’s just the drink, Otabek reminds himself. “Okay,” he says, “but I’ll do that here.”

“Why not do it in my room?” Yuri demands, frowning.

“Because I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.” Otabek replies, keeping his tone even.

“Fine,” Yuri says. “I’m going to get another drink then,” and flashes a victorious smile as Otabek takes his hand before he can walk away.

“You really don’t need to drink more,” Otabek says. “You’re already drunk.”

“No, I’m not,” Yuri snaps. And then, “You want me not to drink you’re gonna need to keep my mouth busy. Like by kissing me.”

Otabek considers. He’s not likely to get Yuri to drop it right now, in the banquet hall. He’s going to have to get Yuri to sober up. Maybe Yuri will still be interested in the morning, but that hasn’t been the case so far.

“Okay,” he decides. “I’m taking you to bed.”

A rush of heat sweeps through Yuri. “Yes,” he hisses, and doesn’t object when Otabek pulls him along to the elevators. He trips along the way, and then he continues to not object when Otabek picks him up. He just wraps one arm around Otabek’s neck, nuzzling into it and sucking and scraping his teeth across the skin, and uses the other to squeeze between their bodies, down to the crotch of Otabek’s pants, rubbing and stroking as best he can with the awkward angle.

“Fuck, Yuri,” Otabek says, as the elevator doors close. He leans heavily against the back wall, hands clenching on Yuri’s arm, his hip.

“Beka,” Yuri moans into Otabek’s neck.

“Shit, stop,” he says and tries to squirm his lower half out of Yuri’s reach. “This is not what I meant by taking you to bed.”

“You’re seriously just going to drop me off in my room?” Yuri asks, still mouthing at Otabek’s neck, loving how Otabek’s breath hitches every time he licks at the skin.

“You’re drunk, Yuri,” Otabek says.

“Not drunk,” Yuri groans, frustrated, into Otabek’s shoulder.

“You had 4 glasses of champagne,” Otabek argues.

“I’m Russian.”

“So what?” Otabek asks as the elevator doors open. “You’re tiny.”

Yuri never had hit another growth spurt, taking after his mother instead (much to his frustration). He’s only a few inches taller, and maybe an inch thicker around the chest than he was when they’d met three or so years ago. Otabek outweighs him significantly, and he takes full advantage of this to carry Yuri out of the elevator.

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy touching Yuri when he can.

He realizes as the doors close behind him he’s on the wrong floor. He’d accidentally hit the button for his own instead of Yuri’s. ... He probably shouldn’t leave Yuri sleeping alone anyway, in case he gets alcohol poisoning.

Extracting his key card is an interesting exercise, but he manages without having to put Yuri down until he’s actually in the room. He doesn’t manage to catch the door before it slams shut, and when he turns back, Yuri is watching him with a narrow-eyed, considering expression.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

“Got what?” Otabek asks.

“You suck in bed.” Yuri says slowly, mouth moving carefully around the words.

“Do I?” Otabek asks, eyebrows rising.

“Yeah. And you’re a shit kisser.”

“Really. And how would you know that?” Otabek crosses his arms.

“Because who the fuck are you going to kiss? You’ve got no experience, obviously.” Yuri scowls.

“Okay,” Otabek says instead of pointing out the obvious, and tilts his head. Tries to track how Yuri’d jumped from “kiss me” to “no one wants to kiss you”, which even for Yuri edges on cruel.

“Hey,” Yuri says, scowling and getting closer to poke Otabek in the shoulder. “You’re supposed say you’re gonna prove me wrong.”

Ah. It’s not a new track, just a new tactic. “1-10, how drunk are you?”

“I’m Russian. Drunk isn’t really a thing for us.”

“Bullshit. 1-10.”

“Fine… like a 2,” Yuri lowballs, rolling his eyes. “Not enough for you to take advantage of me, okay? So shut the fuck up about it.” Yuri scowls. “...How drunk are you?” he asks, after a moment.

Otabek pauses. “Not enough for you to take advantage of me,” he quotes back.

Yuri scowls. “ _Fuck_ ,” he swears, and his fists clench, shoulders tense, face turned to the floor.

“What do I have to do?” he asks. “ _Seriously_. I thought you just wanted to start slow, but. Sometimes I think you’re just not interested, and then you,” he fumbles his words. “You say shit like you’re always paying attention to me, and you carry me the whole way to your _room_ because I tripped like, _one time_ , so I think maybe, but then you say you don’t wanna even fucking kiss me!” He looks up at Otabek, whose eyes are wide. “The hell am I doing wrong?”

“I never said I didn’t want to kiss you,” Otabek says, stunned.

“You said-”

“I said I didn’t want you to regret it in the morning,” Otabek interrupts. Yuri’s mouth falls open a bit.

“I’m not gonna regret it unless you really are shit in bed,” he says definitively. “So prove you’re not. If you’re not a coward.”

Otabek crowds in close to Yuri, who doesn’t back off an inch, using his greater height and mass to surround him. He presses close, feels Yuri’s arousal against his thigh. He hovers his lips over Yuri’s, hears Yuri’s quiet “ _Beka_ ” and stops.

“Coward, huh?”

Otabek has always been weak to the challenge Yuri Plisetzky sets just by existing. Now is no exception. He lets Yuri goad him into a kiss, first shallow, then deeper, harder. Lets Yuri goad him into backing Yuri to the wall and taking off Yuri’s suit while Yuri palms Otabek’s cock through his pants. Otabek tries to keep his breathing steady while his hands caress Yuri’s skin, slide into his clothes. He’s never been a moaner before, but there Yuri is, challenging that too.

Yuri goads him into stripping. Goads him into kneeling, into pressing his open mouth over Yuri’s clothed dick, soaking Yuri’s boxers with his spit so he can suck the taste of Yuri’s pre-come through the fabric. Yuri’s hands dive into his hair, and he groans “shit, fuck, Otabek,” tugging Otabek’s hair as he balls his hands into fists.

Otabek pulls back. “Get on the bed,” he says. (Is that really his voice? he wonders. He sounds low, rough. Commanding.)

Yuri stares down at him, and the flush that had been fading from his cheeks returns full force. His dick twitches against Otabek’s cheek. Yuri breaths deep, nipples pinking as the flush spreads down his narrow chest. Otabek wants those, too. Wants whatever Yuri will give him.

Then Yuri’s face twists into a challenging frown. “What,” he says. “Floor too hard on your old man knees? Or are you chickening out? No way you’re good enough to get me off.”

Otabek's lips twitch "When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to stand on your own.”

“Fucking prove it then,” Yuri says, and backs up over to the bed, leans his ass again the edge. He spreads his legs wide. “Fucking suck me if you’re so good.”

Otabek crowds in close, helps Yuri slide his boxers off, and presses light wet kisses up and down Yuri’s

length, memorizing its shape with his lips.

Yuri takes his hair in hand again and tugs. “ _Jesus_ , suck me already,” he demands again, the hardness of impatience softened by his obvious enjoyment of even just this.

Otabek takes Yuri into his mouth without using his hands, which he starts running over Yuri’s body, seeking out all the sensitive places. Yuri’s nipples are one of those places, so he tweaks them until they start to harden, bobbing his head on Yuri’s cock shallowly. He could take Yuri deep, but he has other things he’d rather do. He pulls off.

Yuri’s eyes snap open. “Fuck, is that the best you can do?” he asks, and the surprise and annoyance are real, not a goad.

“Just getting something,” Otabek explains, “don’t move.” He grabs his tube of lube from on top of his luggage, where he had left it after jerking off this morning. He pops the top as he comes back, kneels again. When he takes Yuri into his mouth this time, he’s ready. He rubs his tongue against the head of Yuri’s dick, wraps it around the length. He sucks hard and when Yuri gasps and shifts his grip to almost pull Otabek forward, to make him take Yuri deeper, he runs one wet finger back from Yuri’s balls – tight and high already – to his hole.

“Shit, fuck!” Yuri startles, grabbing strands of hair to pull Otabek off. “The fuck are you doing?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Trust me,” Otabek says, and sucks on the side of Yuri’s cock, sliding up and then sliding back down, this time with the head inside his mouth.

“Shit,” Yuri groans, and as Otabek rubs lightly over his entrance, “Okay, okay.”

Otabek presses in gently with his middle finger, just the tip, in and out, resuming sucking Yuri’s cock. His mouth is drooling, slicking the parts of Yuri’s cock that he’s teasing with his other hand instead. As Yuri’s tight hole begins to relax, begins to let Otabek press in, _now_ he starts taking Yuri deeper and deeper, increasing the depth as he increases the penetration.

“Holy shit,” Yuri groans. “Can I fuck your throat?” he asks, hands already pressing Otabek’s head closer.

Otabek pulls off completely instead. “No,” he says flatly.

Yuri scowls at him. “How the fuck do you think you’re going to blow my mind if you won’t even deep-throat me?” he asks, and it’s almost amusing how little he apparently knows about sex.

“Get on the bed, on your knees,” Otabek says. “I’ll show you.”

*

“You like this?” he asks a short time later, stroking his finger against Yuri’s inner walls, and feeling Yuri hiss and clench tight as he strokes over and around Yuri’s prostate.

“No,” Yuri groans. “Get your mouth on my dick again.”

“Liar,” Otabek challenges. “Pretend it doesn’t feel amazing if you want,” he says, and gropes Yuri’s cock, hanging loose, heavy and full between Yuri’s spread legs. “This says otherwise.” Yuri inhales sharply at the contact, the quick stroke Otabek turns his grope into.

“Imagine what it’s going to feel like when you’re stretched out around three of my fingers. Maybe I should do 4, just to be sure you really feel it.”

“No,” Yuri says, but it turns into a moan halfway through as Otabek drags his fingertip across his prostate.

“No?” Otabek pulls out, removing his hands from Yuri entirely. “You want me to stop?”

“Shit fuck you, fucking cunt sucker!” Yuri swears back at him. “No I don’t fucking want you to stop! The fuck is wrong with you?”

“If you don’t want me to stop, don’t say no,” Otabek says, frowning, but he puts one hand on Yuri’s hip again. He rubs the pad of his thumb against Yuri’s hole, the muscle loosening and giving way for him to pop the tip inside. “You’re going have to admit to what you want, Yura. I’m not going to let you get away with pretending you’re not into it.”

“Fucking hell!” Yuri gasps at the almost-dry friction sensitizing him further. “No wonder you’re a disappointment in bed. You talk too fucking much.”

Otabek bites him on the ass cheek, and Yuri’s shout is equal parts shock and arousal. Otabek coats his thumbs in lube, and presses one in. Yuri hisses but takes it all, moans as the tip of it pokes at his prostate. Then Otabek begins rubbing the other along his rim, where the first is already holding him open. “Shit,” he says – moans – hole clamping shut on Otabek’s thumb.

“Fuck you’re tight,” Otabek says, sounding like he’s aiming for distant and casual, and missing it by a mile. He puts pressure on his second thumb, lets up. He presses at Yuri’s rim, again and again, massaging it softly; with his right thumb, buried deep in Yuri’s soft folds, he worries at Yuri’s prostate. He starts pressing the tip of his left inside the moment Yuri’s hole gets relaxed and loose enough to give it space.

“The fuck are you doing?” Yuri swears, voice high with surprise, confusion. He’s not clenching up though, even though Otabek’s left thumb is in up to the first knuckle now, so Otabek thinks he isn’t in pain, or not too much. He leans down, kisses the bite mark he’d made on Yuri’s cheek.

“Opening you up to fuck you,” Otabek answers, finding his way back to cool. “Gotta prove I’m not a disappointment, right?” he says, and presses harder until both of his thumbs are in as deep as they can go. His knuckles bump against each other, pressed close by Yuri’s tightness.

“Shit!” Yuri shouts at the sudden spread, so much fatter than Otabek’s middle finger had been, but shorter, too short. Otabek’s thumbs put a heavy pressure on his rim, spreading him open while leaving Yuri’s prostate essentially unstimulated. "You fucker! You gotta- Go deeper. Make it feel good, _fuck_. At this rate, you’ll just prove you’re shit in bed.”

Otabek hums, and then Yuri feels the hot scorch of his breath, his cheeks brushing Yuri’s ass, and a wet soft – holy shit that’s his tongue, the fuck _the fuck_ – lathes over Yuri’s stretching rim, around his thumbs, and into every crevice his thumbs reveal. Yuri’s hole relaxes slowly, coaxed by the gentle pressure, the heat and the slick rub of Otabek’s tongue against virgin skin - meanwhile Yuri’s breathing becomes more and more erratic, finishing more and more with bursts of sounds until Yuri’s exhales are more moan than anything else, and he’s throwing in a curse every time Otabek plants his lips on Yuri’s rim and sucks at it.

And the whole time, Otabek keeps pulling outward with his thumbs, making Yuri’s hole stretch out more and more, until he could see the dark depths of Yuri’s insides if he weren’t already licking into them.

Otabek licks and sucks at Yuri’s hole while Yuri moans and curses; his thumbs pull and press Yuri’s rim and prostate until he’s so open Yuri can feel Otabek’s hot breath on his insides. “Oh God,” he moans. His legs tremble and Otabek leans down low to lick a stripe from the tip of Yuri’s dripping cock, up the underside to suck on his balls. “ _God!_ ” he shouts on a gasp, the invective hitting a higher pitch than Yuri will ever admit to.

Otabek finally presses his thumbs deeper harder, fucking him with them, rubbing roughly against his prostate, opening him so wide without even trying; his hole is going to stay open all by itself by the time Otabek puts his dick in. He can see it in his mind, his ass transposed into the vids he’s seen, holes that gaped open when the carefully manicured hands plunging into them two at a time withdrew. He can see himself opened up that much, reduced to drooling into the pillow.

He remembers the moaning; sometimes (often) he’d mute the videos to keep the sound from shriveling his dick, forced to play more punishing videos so he could listen to what he imagined was closer to real sex while he watched beautiful women get double fisted. He’d always thought it sounded overdone.

They weren’t overdone at all.

“Oh _fuck me_ ,” he groans at the thought that he sounds like a porno whore, and Otabek pauses, only rocking his thumbs in shallowly. Yuri clenches in fury, tries to clench. His hole will hardly budge with Otabek’s thumbs in there, stretched to his limit. “Fuck! Fuck you! Keep going!”

“Fuck you,” Otabek repeats, like he’s considering the idea. “Ask nicely,” he says, and presses his thumbs again to poke at Yuri’s prostate.

“Shit!” Yuri curses, hips jerking at the jolt of pleasure, even while his aching entrance registers the miniscule extra stretch of the base of both of Otabek’s thumbs trying to press deeper into him at the same time. “Fuck you.”

Otabek’s thumbs rub hard circles over the softness of Yuri’s inner flesh, slide out a little so he can scrape his teeth gently against Yuri’s stretched-thin rim. Yuri screams, but his cock twitches and drips. When he pulls his thumbs out to hook just inside the rim, he can practically fit the whole width of his mouth between them, and he exhales hot and wet into Yuri’s gaping hole. Yuri shudders, and Otabek can feel him trying to close up, to squeeze his hole shut.

“That’s not asking nicely,” Otabek chides. He pushes deep to rub at Yuri’s prostate again, filling him again and pushing his loosened muscles even wider. “Say please.” Yuri only groans instead.

“I said, say please,” he repeats, voice lowering into a hard, irritated edge, and he bites at Yuri’s ass cheek. “Say, Please fuck me Otabek, I’m begging for your cock.”

Yuri shouts, trembles. Another drop of pre-cum wets the comforter. “Fuck you,” he sobs.

Narrowing his eyes, Otabek pulls both his thumbs out, ordering, “Don’t move” and ignoring Yuri’s cursing. He slicks the fingers of his hand, pressing in three, then four fingers easily, all at once. He and Yuri groan in unison. “You’re so open,” he marvels. “I just put four fingers in you and you just took it.”

He twists his fingers this way and that, drags skin against skin without letting up any of the full feeling that has to be gutting Yuri. He can’t get over how it looks; Yuri’s so tiny, his hole even smaller – Otabek has thick fingers; starting with Otabek’s pinky alone would have been tight, but now Yuri’s rim stands out such a dark pink it’s nearly red, slick and shiny with lube, most of Otabek’s hand disappearing into it. Only his thumb is left out. He rubs it against Yuri’s perineum, pressing at his prostate from the outside.

You stretched out so easy,” Otabek says, more to himself than Yuri, but he sees and feels the impact it has anywayi.

“Oh,” Yuri moans, “oh my god,” and that beautiful pink rim swallowing his hand tightens briefly around Otabek’s palm in quick little twitches that only emphasize Yuri’s let Otabek push him, how must Yuri’s let Otabek do to him.

“Your hole was made to have my cock in it, understand?” Otabek drives his fingertips hard into Yuri’s prostate.

“Yes!” Yuri shouts, hole clenching - trying to clench - on Otabek’s fingers.

“Your hole is mine,” Otabek drives forward again.

“Yes! Fuckk. Yours,” Yuri’s hisses.

“Now beg me to fuck you.” Otabek claps his other hand down on Yuri’s ass, rubs hard into Yuri’s prostate, keeping the pressure steady, overwhelming until Yuri gasps,

“Fuck me! Fuckme fuckme _please_ Beka, shit! You fucker!”

“Good boy,” Otabek praises, caresses the pink flush rising up on his cheek, and slides his fingers out, taking his cock in hand to lube it slowly, gently.

“You asshole!” Yuri shrieks, twisting to glare back in shocked anger as his hole, accustomed to a stretch now, clenches on an uncomfortable nothing. “Get the fuck in me!”

“I’m clean,” Otabek says, choosing instead to rub the wet head of his bare cock against Yuri’s loose hole. “You’re clean,” he says confidently, not letting Yuri drop his gaze. “I can get a condom, or I can come in you. Fill you up and watch it drip out of you when I’m done.”

Yuri groans in response, licking his lips and jerking his head back to face the headboard. “Just get in me,” he says, quiet and desperate.

Otabek presses forward, stopping just as his tip breaches and enjoys the feeling of Yuri’s muscles squeezing pleasantly around the head of his cock. Enjoys the sight of Yuri’s pink flush against his darker red dick. “Say I can.”

“Do it,” Yuri answers, immediately.

“Ask me to,” Otabek presses.

“Fucking cum in me!” Yuri growls, trying to press back against Otabek’s grip on his hips. Otabek leans forward as far as he can, takes Yuri’s hair in one hand and pulls his head up.

“Say please”

“Please, fuck!” Yuri shouts.

Otabek surges forward, slamming in all at once.

“Aaahn!” Yuri screeches wordlessly, his scream drawing out as Otabek pulls Yuri’s hips back hard, filling Yuri with every millimeter that he can.

“Good boy,” he says again, feeling drunk and more like the men in the porn vids he’s seen than himself. Men with honestly giant cocks that their boys choked on while the men pet their faces, told them how beautiful, how good, how wanted they were, and came over their blissful, upturned faces.

He pets the side of Yuri’s face before he sets a punishing pace, taking no care at all for how fast or hard Yuri might want to go. Yuri doesn’t seem to have any objections, his shocked cries rising and falling with each drive home Otabek makes into Yuri’s wet heat. It feels like he’s punching all of the passion Yuri normally confines to his programs out of him.

The sound of Yuri’s voice, thick cries like sobs and curses and his _name, Bekabekabekabeka_ – sends a bolt of arousal and pleasure straight from his ears to his balls, drawing them tight up. He won’t last like this. He grips Yuri’s hips in a tight grip, and stops himself on a plunge in, grinds himself against Yuri’s prostate (or near enough judging by the pitch Yuri’s cries rise to). He holds Yuri there against his lover’s attempts to pull off, to force movement. “Gimme a minute, or this is gonna be over too fast,” he pants, feeling sweat beading up on his forehead.

“It’s gonna be over _now_ if you don’t keep fucking me, jackass,” Yuri threatens, voice too thick with pleasure to really snap properly, and Otabek is seized with an idea. He slides his hands up Yuri’s sides, gentle, pressing his pelvis closer and closer, so that Yuri won’t be able to help but feel every millimeter of his cock again. So that he can enjoy every millimeter of Yuri.

He grips Yuri’s shoulders and lifts, pulls him back and up until his head falls back onto Otabek’s shoulder, panting chest exposed to the hotel’s air conditioning.

His nipples, already peaked from arousal and the earlier play, harden to tiny pebbles instantly. From the corner of his eye Otabek can see Yuri’s expression, wide eyed with surprise, almost out of his mind with pleasure. It’s that ‘almost’ Otabek wants to fix. Craves fixing. Wants to ruin Yuri for anyone other than him.

“Stay,” he murmurs into Yuri’s ear, and runs his hands back down to Yuri’s knees. He rearranges his legs so Yuri is kneeling over and in his lap, legs folded underneath him, still spitted on Otabek’s cock. He runs his fingers up Yuri’s own hard, wet length, inciting a groan, a curse, a shiver and a bite to the side of his neck almost all at once. “Well done,” he says, and loves – adores – how Yuri shivers and squeezes around him at the words. He runs his hands over Yuri’s flat stomach, teases his ribs, and presses his palms to Yuri’s nipples. Then begins to drag his palms over them in circles, skin dragging against skin, and Yuri breaths a “ _fuck,_ Beka don’t stop.”

“Fuck yourself,” Otabek tells him. “Fuck yourself on my cock until you come.”

“Oh shit,” Yuri breathes. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He starts to rise, whining as his own movement drags Otabek’s fingers across his tight, hard nipples, sending tiny zings of pleasure to his – his whole being, really, he is fucking _made_ of sex and orgasms right now every nerve focused on Otabek’s hands on him, around him. His hole clenches around the length splitting him in two, massages it without his conscious thought. When he does think about it, he clenches harder and smiles viciously at the gasp and groan Otabek makes directly into his shoulder, how Beka bites down softly on his neck. Yuri reaches the point where he can’t pull off anymore without overbalancing. His chest and hips are bowed out in a curve, his head still on Otabek’s shoulder and his ass connected to Otabek through the cock head holding him open.

He drives back suddenly, and loses the sound of Otabek’s moans under his own shout and gasping. He can feel the vibration against his back, though and that’s enough. “Kiss me,” he orders, and one of Otabek’s hands rises to caress his jaw.

 _Not some delicate_ flower – he wants to growl, but he’s distracted by how he feels stretched wide filled filled x _filled_ with Otabek, not just his cock, or his fingers, or the tongue he plunges into Yuri’s mouth, but his silence, his gentleness, his confidence. Yuri feels quiet, content, for once in his life.

Also like his balls are going to explode if he doesn’t move. So he does, trying not to lose either of Otabek’s penetrations by writhing his body in a gymnast’s contortions, one of Otabek’s hands clamped on his jaw to hold his head in place, the other just big enough to stretch nipple to nipple, thumb and pinky playing with both across Yuri’s narrow chest.

 _Fuckk_. God, with every pull up, every drive down, the sensitive skin of his asshole rubs against the bare skin of Otabek’s dick, and then that dick is punching against his prostate, feeling like an orgasm all on its own, and he can’t help but clench every time with how hard it hits him, is forced _every time_ to feel how big Otabek is in him.

Mortifyingly, he finds he can’t keep the sound of his pleasure in even when he tries – Otabek’s hands and mouth and cock are melting Yuri’s brain, teasing him with the promise of a real orgasm that feels frustratingly just out of reach. He whines without meaning to and _has_ to press his teeth into Otabek’s lips, bite and suck at them. He has to take all this excess _feeling_ out on Otabek, wring sound from him too. He wants more. He can’t drive deep enough, hard enough, fast enough to satisfy himself.

He tears away from Otabek’s grip. “Fuck me,” he demands, and Otabek meets his eyes, licks lips shiny and red from _Yuri_. His hands grip Yuri’s waist, and then

Yuri snaps his head back onto Beka’s shoulder as those thick hands pull him up and _down_ , driving that huge width that Yuri can’t believe actually fits in him it feels so _big_ , inside of him faster deeper harder, and the joy, ecstasy punch their way out of him. He sobs, keens with every drive down, every jack-hammer force press into his prostate.

Tears gather at the corners of his eyes. _Shit_ fuck _Beka_ he thinks, and Otabek growls “ _Yuri,_ ” more erotic in that moment than anything Yuri could think of. Not even that _good boy_ that had caught Yuri completely by surprise with how much he liked it.

Hands press him forward, back down to the bed, press his shoulders and chest into the mattress. Otabek snaps his hips even more firmly, rhythmically, and Yuri shouts Beka’s name again and again, completely unable to think of anything else to say. There are no other words in any language than Beka, with a hotel duvet teasing his nipples endlessly, every inch of his hole feeling lit up with pleasure that he wouldn’t be able to express in words anyway. He’s going out of his mind with it.

Otabek leans down, close. One hand grips Yuri’s hair again, tugs at him – he chokes on a gasp – the other worms underneath him and rubs purposefully over those two sparks of pleasure on his chest, and Otabek’s dark sensuous voice growls, “cum” in his ear.

Any semblance of personhood Yuri has is gone in that moment. He is a cock, he is a hole, and he is the intense, blinding rush of completion that shrieks its way out of him. _Beka beka beka…!_

That giant, hard length inside his wildly fluttering hole – clenching and unclenching with each pulse he spills, while Yuri gasps and shudders his way back to reality – thrusts once, twice more directly into his prostate and then _presses_. Yuri doesn’t need to hear Otabek scream or grunt or growl to know that he’s soaking Yuri’s insides, painting him – _marking him_ – with Otabek’s cum. He lets himself go lax, except for his ass, which he clenches to wring the cock filling him dry, to get every bit that Otabek will give him. He smiles his own dark grin as he wrings an exhalation so sudden and pitched it might as well be a sob. _Asshole, _he thinks. _Give you what you deserve. _____

Finally, Otabek pulls out with a groan. “Yuri,” he says, sounding as wrecked as Yuri feels. His hole feels hot and swollen – leaking, just as Otabek promised, and if Yuri were less wrung out than he is, he’d be tempted to reach back, run his fingers over it, taste it, use it as lube to fuck himself to torture Otabek. Instead, he remains boneless on the bed, ass raised high in the air, kept up only because he’s been well-propped. He feels drunk. Again. Still. Too lethargic to startle as he feels Otabek’s hand run over his ass cheeks, his gummy thumb dip into the line between them. Otabek presses his thumb to Yuri’s hole, and Yuri gasps and groans as he feels the flesh give way underneath the pressure.

“You have no idea how you look back here,” Otabek says. “Your hole is all red,” he rubs it lightly, and Yuri’s dick twitches like he might get hard again. “It’s all wet. My cum’s leaking out.” He presses in shallowly and Yuri whimpers as his sensitive skin sends up signals that feel like too much and not enough. Pleasure and discomfort edging on pain. “I wanna take a picture.”

“You watch too much porn,” Yuri groans.

Otabek laughs. “Probably,” he agrees, rubbing Yuri’s inner walls a bit before he pulls his thumb back out. 

He pulls Yuri’s cheeks apart both hands, and that hot wet tongue dips in. Yuri groans. His hole makes no confusion over how this feels; soothing on his sore rim, pleasantly frictionless. Yuri groans, and lets Otabek do as he wants. Fuck it, he wants to stick his tongue in Yuri’s ass, it’s not like it hurts, and it’s not like Yuri didn’t just have something even less hygenic up there.

 _Shit_ , Otabek’s dick. Yuri’s own definitely twitches, beginning to fill out and swell again. “Fuck, Beka, you’re making me hard again.”

Otabek pulls away, but only slightly. Lets the heat of his breath travel across Yuri’s swollen pucker as he says, “Good.”

“Asshole,” Yuri grumbles, not actually upset. Otabek returns to his ass with a hot puff of breath. He sticks to the outside, running his tongue over the surface of Yuri’s again tightly clenched hole, easing it loose and open again with the gentle pressure and slick heat. Yuri groans, and reaches down to palm his cock.

He grips it tightly, pulls at it, then runs his hand over the puddle of cum he left under him, using it to ease the friction – god he’d come on Beka’s cock without even being touched, just from his nipples played with and Beka’s voice in his ear. His hole twitches at the erotic memory.

Otabek pulls Yuri’s cheeks wider, does a – he feels like he’s pressing his lips in a circle around Yuri’s hole? The soft, wet pressure feels nice, but not as nice as his tongue, moments ago. “Beka, the fuck-?” Yuri only gets as far as that before there’s a sudden pull on his rim, the sore, pinked flesh suffering a fresh wave of blood flooding to the area, and _holy shit he can feel Otabek’s cum moving inside him._ Yuri squawks, gasps, moans as Otabek sucks his own cum out of Yuri’s hole _like a freak_ , only giving Yuri momentary breaks to lick at the surface of the so-sensitized skin. “Fuck, what are you doing?” he cries, the words turning into sobs with the way his breath is coming in gasps, timed to Otabek’s suction.

His dick is so hard it hurts but every time he thinks he might be there, every time he feels the edges of his body’s rush to orgasm, Otabek sucks _hard_ , a spike of pain driving it back.”Goddamnit! Beka,” he gasps. “Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you let me come!”

Abruptly, Otabek’s mouth its gone. Yuri’s hauled up to press back to chest against Otabek again, and unhesitatingly, he buries his face in Otabek’s neck. Otabek takes Yuri’s hand, and raises to his own lips, and

Spits

 _Holy fuck that’s_ filthy, Yuri thinks, too turned on to say anything. It shouldn’t be so goddamn hot, Otabek just spit the cum he sucked out of Yuri’s ass – the cum he put there in the first place, into Yuri’s palm. _It’s fucking nasty_. Otabek takes that hand, and wraps it around Yuri’s cock, now both of their orgasms helping their hands to move without any friction. “Touch yourself,” Otabek orders, and _fuck_ Yuri can’t not. He aches so badly, the pressure of his hand on his cock good but not enough without movement. And then Otabek’s playing with his nipples again, rubbing them (Yuri moans), flicking them (he gasps), tweaking them (he wails, completely without shame because fuck the neighbors). “Beka,” and there goes his vocabulary again. “Beka beka, please, god. I need to- I need you”

Otabek presses his wet dick hard against the small of Yuri’s back and whispers, “fuck, Yuri,” and something that sounds like, “gonna kill me.” Yuri’s too desperate to feel smug. He’ll gloat later.

He gets it though, that Yuri’s not talking about getting fucked again, he needs Otabek’s voice, needs to hear him saying that fucking filthy shit that goes straight to Yuri’s cock.

“I’m going to plug you one day,” Beka whispers. “Fuck my cum into you like I did just now, and then I’m going to shove a plug in you. It’ll be just the same size as my cock, keep you stretched out and wet until I’m ready to go again.”

Oh fuck yes _yes yes that_ “God do it, do it do it Beka please”

“You can practice with it in, right? I want to see you land a quad flip with my cock up inside you, Victor and Katsuki and Yakov none the wiser.”

Yuri has no words, can only whine and pull and jerk on his cock. God, he wants that. Wants to walk into the change room with Beka’s marks on his neck, stuffed wide, cock hard but off limits. Wants to know that when he strips to shower, everyone will see, will know that Beka crammed a fake dick into him and sent him off to practice, soaked and spitted. Wants to be _owned_.

One of Beka’s hands drifts down, rubs gently against his hole. It’s so loose and wet Beka could just slide back in, fuck him until he’s too used to feel any good and then jerk off all over his gaping ass. “ _Fuck Beka_ I’m close,” Yuri’s trembling, his whole body shaking. He just came but he’s been hard so long, been wanting so long, and –

Otabek’s hand clamps down on his wrist, halting all movement, two fingers pinching a nipple between them. “Fucker!” Yuri shouts. “Fucking whore, let me come!”

Otabek huffs a laugh. “If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you,” he whispers into the shell of Yuri’s ear, and Yuri gasps and writhes, arousal shooting through him. _Fuck what is wrong with me?_ “Slow down Yura,” Otabek continues. “My Yurotchka” And shit, his _name_ , the diminutives are just as hot as getting called a whore. The fuck…?

He tries asking out loud, but only that comes out, just “fuck- fuck- fuck” before he gives up, Otabek’s hand cupping his, guiding his grip and slide, other hand now sliding down to play with Yuri’s balls, cup and roll them in his palm, lightly pinch the skin. “ _Fuck!_ Beka!”

“I wonder how long I can keep you from coming?” Otabek whispers. “30 minutes? An hour? Maybe I should train you. Work our way up to a full day, until you’re desperate and writhing for me. Maybe I’ll tie you to the bed, stuff you up with a vibrator and a cock ring to keep you hard, and only let you out to suck me.”

Yuri groans brokenly, mind seized by the image. “Beka, beka,” he says, and his free hand scrabbles at Otabek’s wrist. “I need to come. I need to come right now.”

Otabek’s hand squeezes his tight, cutting his orgasm off before it could begin. His other hand pulls Yuri’s balls down. As if to make sure Yuri can’t come. “What if I don’t want you to?”

“Fuck!” Yuri gasps. “Fuck, do it later, all of it. Fill me, plug me, tie me up, fuck my throat, but I swear to god you need to let me come right now.” Otabek stays silent for so long, hand still gripping the base of Yuri’s dick tightly, moving to tickle up and down the length, play with the slit with the other. After a moment, he drifts that hand up to pinch and rub at his nipples and then heads down again. Yuri tries to stay quiet, to keep the pleasure that builds and stacks inside him in. Mostly succeeds, only whimpering when Otabek plays with his nipples, which are becoming so sensitive he hardly has to touch them for Yuri’s cock to twitch despite Otabek’s strangling hold on his hand that forces Yuri to prevent _himself_ from coming.

Lips press against Yuri’s neck, a tongue strokes against his skin. Otabek sucks lightly, and Yuri’s whimper becomes a keening noise that won’t stop, that Yuri can’t pull back in. Otabek grips him tighter, Yuri’s hand kills any chance at orgasm.

He’s not going to let him, Yuri realizes. He’s going to keep Yuri hard, keep playing with him and teasing him until Yuri can’t take it anymore and literally goes insane from losing his virginity to a sadist.

Tears gather at the corners of his eyes. _Shit. Fuck you eyes, what the fuck,_ “ _Please,_ Beka,” he groans, and his voice _breaks, mother fucking fucker_. And then Otabek’s hand releases, jerks Yuri roughly over his doubly cum slicked dick Jesus Christ Yuri can’t take this, it’s so good. His jaw drops, he couldn’t hold his cries in if he could pull the brain power together to try. His entire body is humming with pleasure, his legs are trembling, only Otabek’s sudden strong grip around his middle holding him up.

 _Just like he said, fuck._ His cock leaks a steady stream of pre-come, wetting Yuri and Beka’s hands, together. He pulls his hand out, lets Otabek have his cock ( _fuck it, it’s his anyway_ , the thought pops into Yuri’s head and _goddamnit_ it’s such a fucking turn on), and tweaks his nipples, exactly like –

“ _Yes_ ,” Beka gasps. “Touch yourself.” His voice isn’t the dark mesmerizing thing it was just a moment ago. It sounds like he’s barely hanging on himself and _is there nothing Otabek Altin can do that isn’t going to make Yuri that much more desperate?_ “Cum for me. Do it. _Now_ ,” he growls the last, screws his hand down Yuri’s cock and Yuri explodes, long ropes of cum shooting up into the air. They wet Otabek’s hands where he continues to milk Yuri’s cock throughout. They land on Yuri’s chest, his hands where they pinch his nipples, on his face, into his open mouth, left wide open and face tilted to the ceiling.

When Otabek’s hand slows to a halt, Yuri can’t move. Can’t talk. Can only gasp and feel his cum slide down his face and chest, taste it while he leans back and turns his head to stare blankly at Otabek’s neck – he left his own marks there. Good. He wants to suck on them more. Harder, until they won’t fade for a week, and Otabek will be just as marked as he is. Wants to suck on them every day until they become as permanent a fixture in his appearance as his eyebrows. Wants to own Beka as much as he wants to be owned.

“Yuri?” Otabek asks. Yuri feels blank, empty. Like he’s orgasmed himself into a nothing. A nothing that feels incredibly good, though, but a nothing all the same. He manages a hum, and hopes it sounds as content as he feels. 

Otabek presses his dick, hard again, into Yuri’s back. “Yuri, can I?” he asks, and Yuri nods against his shoulder, presses his cum-streaked face as best he can into Otabek’s neck, blocking his own vision. He feels Otabek reach down and slide his hard length into the crease between Yuri’s legs. He thrusts, the head of his cock nudging against the back of Yuri’s balls. Yuri can’t help but let out a humming moan at the feel, even spent at he is. He feels as well as hears Otabek’s responding groan. “Yuri, Yurochka,” he gasps, hands holding Yuri’s chest and stomach tightly. “You’re so good. You’re perfect.”

Yuri feels like the words are soaking into him. His lips twitch into a smile. _Obviously,_ he thinks, for his own amusement.

“You’re incredible. Letting me do this to you, letting me take you. Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Yuri hums again, lifts his hands to run his fingers over the places where he can still feel Otabek’s touch, the bites on his ass, his spent cock, his pinched nipples. He feels warm. Hollowed out and empty, but warm and quiet and owned.

Otabek groans, burying his hands in Yuri’s hair, ending up pinning Yuri back against him with his arms looped under his arm pits, exposing Yuri fully to the room. “I wish I could show you off, just like this. All fucked out and quiet. You turn me on so much,” Otabek continues.

Yuri tilts his head to lick at Otabek’s neck. Otabek shivers. “I’m so lucky that I get to be the one who turns you on, who gets to see you so aroused you can’t speak, who gets to hold you and tell you all this.”

“Shut up Beka,” Yuri manages to groan; it just figures that Otabek, normally so quiet, would be chatty in bed. Yuri’s smile doesn’t fade in the slightest, though.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you,” Otabek gasps. “Fuck, even if we never do this again,” he doesn’t get the chance to finish. He comes, shuddering and gasping into Yuri’s shoulder, soaking Yuri’s thighs and balls.

They stay posed like that for a time: Otabek’s cock softening between Yuri’s ass cheeks, panting into his back, Yuri leaning back against him, curved lips pressed against the marks he’d left. Yuri feels like it’s a long time but Yuri’s sense of time has always been fucked. Otabek’s cum trickles down towards his knees, cooling against his skin.

Finally Otabek moves, lays Yuri down and sits beside him, stroking his hair. His eyes search Yuri’s face, for what, Yuri can’t guess. Maybe he finds it, because “Hold on a sec,” he says, kissing Yuri’s forehead. “I’m gonna clean up.” He leaves, and Yuri feels cold.

He should get under the covers. It’d serve Otabek right if he left a wet spot. The fucker made Yuri into one big mess, after all. And then left him utterly filthy on the bed. He shivers. The air conditioner’s on too high.

He hears the tap in the bathroom running. He’ll tell Otabek to turn up the heat as soon as he’s back. His thighs feel sticky and gross. He should take a shower. He’s gonna need an enema or something, isn’t he? Hell, he’s so fucking loose he could probably just shove the showerhead up there. The tap shuts off; Otabek returns, and he’s frowning when he comes into Yuri’s line of sight.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” he asks. There’s a washcloth in his hands. “You’re shivering.”

“It’s fucking cold,” Yuri snaps. “Turn the fucking heat on.”

“It’s not cold,” Otabek says quietly, in blatant contradiction of the chill that’s sinking straight through Yuri. “Here,” he manhandles Yuri until he’s got the covers out from under him, and settles him underneath them. “Do you want to take a bath?” he asks.

“I’m disgusting,” Yuri says, instead of answering. “I mean,” _I feel disgusting_ , he wants to say, to say that it’s just the physical sensation of cum, cold against his face and chest and slick between his cheeks and in his ass; it feels like even more is leaking out of him, despite Otabek’s earlier efforts. But it’s not just the physical sensation.

His mind’s playing the last half-hour on repeat, every word, every groan and moan. How he’d begged, and sure it’d been hot at the time, but any time he’s ever imagined himself having sex, he hadn’t been on the bottom, and there sure as fuck hadn’t been any begging on his part.

The trembling is worsening despite the blankets. “I want a shower, but I can’t move,” he admits, and stares at the ceiling while Otabek says, “okay,” and runs the cooling washcloth over his face for him. The bed dips as Otabek climbs under the blankets himself, to wipe Yuri down without having to expose him again.

Yuri’s chest hitches. Fuck. He’s pathetic. The washcloth brushes over his nipples and they ache. He just had fantastic sex, and he’s so fucking fucked up about it that Otabek’s gotta clean him up – the cloth presses between his legs, his cheeks – and now, he’s fucking _crying_ , he can feel it. He feels Otabek’s hand on his cheek.

“Yuri?” he asks, tone careful.

If he breaths, he’s _really_ gonna fucking cry, and then he will spontaneously combust with embarrassment.

Otabek gets up, dropping the washcloth on the floor, coming back almost instantly with his phone in hand.

 _I wanna take a picture_ , Yuri remembers. “If you fucking take a picture of me, I’m gonna shank you,” he threatens darkly, through the embarrassment and shame.

Otabek frowns at him, and Jesus Christ, it makes him feel worse. He clamps his eyes shut rather than look at it. _Of course_ Otabek’s not going to take a picture; Yuri’s an asshole. “I’m googling what’s wrong with you,” Otabek says. “I’ve had sex before, and no one else… this didn’t happen.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, and Yuri ends up curling around his side, pressing his face into Otabek’s thigh. One hand drops down and pets his hair, and that helps.

“Keep doing that,” he orders sulkily, and Otabek tweaks his ear, but returns to petting after.

He runs his fingers through Yuri’s hair, gently untangling whenever his fingers catch. “Here we go,” he says eventually, when Yuri’s almost halfway to feeling okay again. “It’s called-“ he pauses. “It’s a reaction to really intense sex,” he says. “Like we just had. Happens to lots of people.”

“You’re not falling apart,” Yuri grouses.

“I also wasn’t on the bottom,” Otabek says. “Next time, you can fuck me and we’ll see who falls apart then.”

“Next time?” Yuri asks, tilting his head to look up.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Otabek amends, not meeting Yuri’s eyes. “That… that would suck. I really like you, Yuri, and I loved having sex with you and being able to make you fall apart like, not like this. The other kind.”

Despite his own mood, Yuri snorts, and turns his face back into Otabek’s leg.

“But if you don’t, that’s okay. I’d rather be your friend than nothing,” Otabek finishes.

“You said,” Yuri remembers, “You said, I have no idea how long you wanted it.” He glances up, and gets to see the moment when Otabek’s face blushes.

“Yeah,” he says.

“How long?” Yuri asks.

Otabek looks down, meets up Yuri’s upturned gaze. “You remember the first year we competed at GPF together?”

“ _Barcelona_?” Yuri gapes. “You mean you wanted to fuck me right from the start?”

“Not right from the start,” Otabek says, breaking his gaze. The blush deepens. “Your exhibition skate. It was-” the tip of his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more erotic before or since, than how your tank top slid up on the ice during the cantilever. Katsuki’s Eros routine didn’t remotely compare.”

Yuri stares. “So basically, you wanted to fuck me right from the start?” he says again. “That was like, three days after we met, Beka, what the fuck?” He starts to sit up, and Otabek adjusts so he can keep the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“I know. You were fifteen. It was completely inappropriate,” Otabek clenches his jaw.

Completely inappropriate. That’s one way of putting it. And Yuri remembers what a mess he’d been at 15, boiling with jealousy and frustration and loneliness. Meeting Otabek had been everything. One person whose life in skating was just as lonely, who didn’t want anything from him except friendship and didn’t mind when he was – in retrospect - an asshole.

“I’m not 15 anymore,” Yuri says, because he doesn’t want to ask what Otabek even saw in him then. “So if you wanted me that long, then what the fuck? Why did it take 3 weeks to convince you to bang me?”

Otabek stares at him for a moment. “Every time you… said anything, you were either drinking or drunk.”

“Was not,” Yuri protests, automatically. Otabek gives him a look. “I wasn’t drunk,” he insists. “I wasn’t even drinking when I tried skyping you.”

“I could see the beer cans in the background,” Otabek says, but moves on without waiting for Yuri’s response. “I just didn’t want to be someone you fucked because you were curious.”

“Who the fuck is gonna be curious about it without being serious?” Yuri scoffs. The beer cans hadn’t been recent, he just hadn’t cleaned up yet but whatever. Not about the booze anymore.

Otabek huffs, and looks down at his phone. “You'd be surprised.” He frowns. “This says you should eat. Is there anything you want? I’ll get it for you.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yuri says, because what he really wants he can’t have – his granddad’s katsudon pirohzki is back in Russia.

“Is it okay if I lie down next to you?” Otabek asks, hand twitching towards Yuri’s shoulder.

Yuri glares. “It’s your room, moron.”

Otabek huffs again and slips on a pair of boxers, tossing another pair at Yuri to squirm into under the covers, and gets in. Yuri curls towards him, and without needing to ask Otabek tugs him over to rest his head on his shoulder, breath passing over Otabek’s pec. “I’ll get you coffee in the morning,” Beka promises.

“Okay,” Yuri says. “It better not be shitty coffee.”

“Starbucks caramel macchiato. Gotcha.”

“I only won silver,” Yuri points out. The other Yuri had taken gold. His free skate had been seriously intense, fully deserving the full point he’d beaten Yuri by.

“I know,” Otabek says. Otabek barely missed the podium, a not-quite-new skater whose name Yuri knows he’s being petty by refusing to learn taking bronze.

Then Victor had joined the exhibition skate even though he’d retired last year, and carved a cursive “Yuri I love you” onto the ice with his figures, in the most disgusting display Yuri’s seen since he’d married Katsudon. “You’re not allowed to act like Victor. Ever,” he says.

He feels Otabek’s chest bounce with suppressed laughter. “You mean you don’t want to make international news by causing a scandal every single year?” Yuri pokes his side.

“I’m serious. If we’re going to do… this,” whatever this is, crazy intense sex that Yuri cries over, “you are not allowed to embarrass me on national television. Yakov would kill me.”

Otabek laughs again. “I won’t,” he promises.

*

Yuri’s almost completely asleep, when Otabek speaks again.

“Yuri, did you hit on me with one of Katsuki’s wedding vows?”

**Author's Note:**

> The boys leave off wearing a condom on the assumption that they're both clean, so it's not safe; they don't negotiate limits or safe words, are both a bit drunk and making spur of the moment decisions, so it's not sane; lastly, neither of them really realizes that what they're doing falls into the BDSM category, so you can't call their consent informed, though it is enthusiastic.
> 
> Yuri uses whorephobic slurs in reference to himself, and as a casual insult. It's part of his kink, but is still punching down.


End file.
